"Emma, you're so p..." I hear it on the tips of her lips. I know what's coming. The letter she uses everyday to poke fun at me. The recognition that I don't fit the mold society has cut. My skin tone, or rather lack there of. Pale. I hear it before she says it. "...retty." The word becomes distorted in my head. That's not the right word. That can't be right. I'm not that girl. I'm not. "Tha-a-a-ank you?" I choke out the words. It's a question. I don't believe it, can't believe it. It's not true. Not me. I'm not. "No, really. I thought you were so pretty at the rehearsal audition." Now she's tripping over words. This can't be true. I feel so awkward, so exposed. How can she say that? How can she honestly say that? "Thanks." Unsteady, unsure, disbelieving. This isn't true.
Another girl joins in, "yeah!" Panic. Somewhere someone quietly says this is getting awkward . "Can we stop now?" "You gorgeous woman!" "Really, can we stop now?" It knocks around inside my skull 'you gorgeous woman.' She's trying to be nice. She doesn't know. " Thank you, but can we stop?" The web of fissures in my facade is growing. My world is spinning. It's too much. It's all too much.
I told a girl at school that I hope the world does end this December. She said that was horrible. She seemed genuinely surprised. Appalled. Is it really that bad? Really that odd? No, it can't be. I'd never even thought of it before. It was just a hyperbole. I was expressing my exhaustion. But I meant it too.
I can't sleep. Four or five hours of light sleep a night. I can't fall asleep until 1 or 2am long past the time when everyone else has gone to bed. I dream where there used to be the endless expanse of a deep sleep's abyss. The bags below my eyes are ever growing. My eyes are dry and I feel like there's something sharp stuck in the corners, but it never comes out. They ache. My eyebrows are higher than usual in an effort to lift my lids. The ADD I always have is multiplied. It's normal to have three strains of thought. What I should focus on, what's distracting me, and telling myself to focus on the first. I'm exhausted. I'm to scared of what my grades may be to actually look. I have 2 weeks to lose 8 pounds and parents breathing down my neck. I'm required to be in 3 different places at one on May 11th for my only spacing rehearsal, the AP test, and standardized testing. I still haven't read my AP text book. I'm so mad at my friend. I can't stop thinking about a boy that never crossed my mind until she threatened to ruin any and everything. I don't want to do my performance. I'm scared of what New York will be like. Scared of how thin every other ballerina there will be. How much fatter I'll look compared to them. I'm literally clamping my head trying to expel thoughts of regrets which never leave. My mother is talking about being besties forever and all I want is to disappear into the woodwork of the world. I don't know where I want to take my life. I don't find any joy in dance anymore but giving up now seems like such a waste. I'm stretched so thin, but I'm fatter than ever. I can't stand to look at myself. My brother told my I wasn't fat, I'm paranoid. How dare he?! I am in triple digits. I should be 85lb. All I want is for someone to notice the vacant look in my eyes. Recognize that my gaze has been fixated on nothing for far too long a period of time. See that I can't stop moving because of nervous energy while it's hard to even get out of my seat. I want them to see the torture in my bones. to count them one by one and wonder what in my life could possible make me want to be thin enough for each successive bone to show. To wonder why my skinny jeans look straight cut and my shirt looks like a dress.
I"m so tired. I just ... I don't know
Another girl joins in, "yeah!" Panic. Somewhere someone quietly says this is getting awkward . "Can we stop now?" "You gorgeous woman!" "Really, can we stop now?" It knocks around inside my skull 'you gorgeous woman.' She's trying to be nice. She doesn't know. " Thank you, but can we stop?" The web of fissures in my facade is growing. My world is spinning. It's too much. It's all too much.
I told a girl at school that I hope the world does end this December. She said that was horrible. She seemed genuinely surprised. Appalled. Is it really that bad? Really that odd? No, it can't be. I'd never even thought of it before. It was just a hyperbole. I was expressing my exhaustion. But I meant it too.
I can't sleep. Four or five hours of light sleep a night. I can't fall asleep until 1 or 2am long past the time when everyone else has gone to bed. I dream where there used to be the endless expanse of a deep sleep's abyss. The bags below my eyes are ever growing. My eyes are dry and I feel like there's something sharp stuck in the corners, but it never comes out. They ache. My eyebrows are higher than usual in an effort to lift my lids. The ADD I always have is multiplied. It's normal to have three strains of thought. What I should focus on, what's distracting me, and telling myself to focus on the first. I'm exhausted. I'm to scared of what my grades may be to actually look. I have 2 weeks to lose 8 pounds and parents breathing down my neck. I'm required to be in 3 different places at one on May 11th for my only spacing rehearsal, the AP test, and standardized testing. I still haven't read my AP text book. I'm so mad at my friend. I can't stop thinking about a boy that never crossed my mind until she threatened to ruin any and everything. I don't want to do my performance. I'm scared of what New York will be like. Scared of how thin every other ballerina there will be. How much fatter I'll look compared to them. I'm literally clamping my head trying to expel thoughts of regrets which never leave. My mother is talking about being besties forever and all I want is to disappear into the woodwork of the world. I don't know where I want to take my life. I don't find any joy in dance anymore but giving up now seems like such a waste. I'm stretched so thin, but I'm fatter than ever. I can't stand to look at myself. My brother told my I wasn't fat, I'm paranoid. How dare he?! I am in triple digits. I should be 85lb. All I want is for someone to notice the vacant look in my eyes. Recognize that my gaze has been fixated on nothing for far too long a period of time. See that I can't stop moving because of nervous energy while it's hard to even get out of my seat. I want them to see the torture in my bones. to count them one by one and wonder what in my life could possible make me want to be thin enough for each successive bone to show. To wonder why my skinny jeans look straight cut and my shirt looks like a dress.
I"m so tired. I just ... I don't know
Special thanks to:
Katie Ehrlich ~ I hope you don't know the feeling too well anymore. I wouldn't wish this on anyone.
Get some rest lovelies. If you have extra, I'd love some :P
It feels so awkward and invasive when people call me pretty or beautiful. It can't be true. If this were true, then why would I hate myself so much. It all seems like a facade. My bf also hopes the world will actually end in Dec. It doens't bother me. It would be nice to finally not have to worry all the time anymore. HOpe you have a good rest of your day.
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